


We the Outcasts

by orphan_account



Series: God Help the Outcasts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, Depression, F/M, Fem!Cas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still in shock from the previous chapter, Sam tries to pray for the help of an angel against Dean's wishes</p>
            </blockquote>





	We the Outcasts

Sam shook his head silently, barely able to contain the sight of the room in his mind. There was a huge puddle of blood at Dean's feet, a bloody knife thrown over by the door, and thin, narrow scars running up Dean's red arms. His eyebrows creased, as he took one step forward, not daring to be too bold. “I'm so sorry,” Sam whispered, reaching for the opening of the tissue so he could peel it off. Dean winced a bit, before quickly biting down on his cheek, so Sam wouldn't see his pain. He was already embarrassed enough, he didn't want Sam to see him any more weak than he already was. Having your baby brother walk in on you cutting yourself, isn't exactly one of the categories of 'Big Brother of the Year'. 

“Sam, stop.” Dean muttered, pushing Sam's feeble, bloody hands away. Sam looked generally surprised at the notion,and he quickly picked up the vibe. “Just go watch your damn movie.”

“Dean please, I just want to he—”

“Don't you dare say help. I'm the older brother. I should be taking care of you. Got it?” Dean huffed, sending his brother on his way. He glared at the bathroom door, rolling his eyes, thinking of the desperation in Sam's efforts. Dean had only seen desperation like that once before—the day his mother died. Their dad used to be so fun, always taking Dean on hikes and teaching him how to play sports. When Sam was born, things had changed for the better. His mom and dad would take shifts watching Sam, and the other would play with Dean. Until November 2nd. 

Sam stared at the blank television screen, not sure whether or not to plop in the movie or go check back with Dean. He thought back to Dean's burst of anger, interrupted with tears forming in his eyes. All Sam could think of was the blood coursing down his arms, and how many cuts opened into his veins. It pained him to think of his brother like that, and tried quickly to cast the thought out of his mind.

Leaning forward, he removed the DVD from the case, and placed it gently in the player. He had his Kraft Dinner with him, and tried hard to clear his mind, and wait for his dad to get home. He'd know what to do, Sam hoped. 

~

Sam was about halfway through the movie, when Dean finally emerged from his cocoon in the bathroom. He barely acknowledged Sam, as he sank down onto the couch, letting his legs fly up onto a nearby coffee table. 

By now, the main female lead Esmeralda, was in a church locked in for what seemed like forever. She had started singing her main song God Help the Outcasts, and Sam tried desperately not to tear up at the familiarity. 

He glanced over at Dean, who gulped heavily, trying to ignore eye contact with Sam. His eyes darted all around the room, as he gripped his arm tighter, pulling his sleeve over his cuts. 

Sam forced a smile, sliding over beside his brother, leaning into him. At first, it felt alien, as Dean almost didn't know how to respond. Finally, he let his arm drape over his brother like a sheltering curtain. “Dean?” Sam breathed.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Are we outcasts?” It was a simple enough question, yet neither of them fully wanted to address it. Every few seconds, Dean would take in a breath, open his mouth to speak, and just let out another small breath. 

Instead of fully replying, Dean walked over to the round kitchen table, seated for one person with a few water bottles sitting over-top of pictures of previous hunts. Dean grabbed the closest one to him, and easiest to access. “What is this?” He asked. 

His brother took a few seconds to glance at it, then upon seeing the tiny drops of blood painted across the monster's face answered, “A vampire.” 

“And how do you kill it?”

“Easy, you usually have to weaken it with dead man's blood, and then decapitate it, and burn the body. Well you don't need to burn the body-dad just says you should get rid of it.” Sam grinned, pride running through him, as Dean sat back down beside him.

“See Sam? You answered your own question.” Sam ignored his brother's sarcastic tone, and continued watching the movie, trying to remind himself on repeat that it was in fact a movie and not an autobiography on his life. Every now and then, he'd turn over to Dean, watching his expression change throughout the movie. It wasn't very often when a movie would actually hypnotize Dean into receiving emotional feelings, but this was one of the rare occasions. There was even a glimmer of a threatening tear, welling up in his brother's eye. 

The two mostly sat in silence for the rest of the movie, but when the credits rolled up on screen Dean just headed back over to the washroom, while Sam simply wandered over to the side of his bed. He went down on his knees, and propped his hands up onto the bed, weaving his fingers together, as he closed his eyes.

“Dear God, I don't know if you can hear me, maybe you're busy fixing other people, like Santa does, but it would mean a lot to me if you helped my brother Dean. He can be kind of a jerk sometimes, but I promise he's good underneath. Maybe you could send down an angel? It doesn't matter, even just listening means a lot to me, and I—”

“Sam, what do you're doing?” Dean barked, entering the room as soon as he had heard his baby brother talking, when nobody else was in the room. His thoughts automatically leaped to ghost. 

Sam hesitated, terror flashing through his eyes. He knew Dean wasn't the most religious person, nor his father, but Sam didn't see any reason not to believe. “I'm praying to God. For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don't be an idiot, Sammy. God doesn't exist.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if he did, our lives wouldn't be like this!” The teen screamed, a bit of spit spraying onto Sam, as he grabbed his brother's hand and pulled him up onto his feet. “Do you know what Dad would say?”

Sam remained silent. He hadn't meant to do Dean any harm, or hurt his feelings by any means. He wanted to save his brother, his dad, and him. He thought if anyone would help, it'd be God. Maybe he'd clean up the blood from the bathroom, and fix Dean's wounds. He'd stop the hunting, and let John have a normal life to enjoy with his sons. They would be protected by angels for eternity. 

“Do you?” 

“No,” Sam whimpered, wishing he could just fade into a shadow, and never be seen again. He hated the nights like this, where Dean tried to take the role of his guardian. 

“He'd yell at you. Call you an idiot, and probably hurt you again. Then I'd get in trouble, Sam. Do you want me to get in trouble for something you did?”

Sam muttered something softly under his breath, causing Dean's immediate attention. Though his brother remained quiet, he knew exactly what he was thinking. They had gone to school long enough to understand when people whispered about them specifically. “I'm sorry Dean, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to help.” 

The teen scoffed, before heading back into the bathroom, his arm leaking scattered stains of crimson liquid. Though, right before he was about to walk in, he paused in the collapsing doorway, licking his lips, attempting to chap them. “I know you were Sammy. I know.” He muttered, before closing the door behind him, leaving Sam to do what he wanted.

“Please,” Sam purred into the stained mattress, his eyebrows creasing together in pressed worry. “Please send help.”


End file.
